


Anything More Than Dreams

by missazrael



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Divergent, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, F/M, Femdom, Graphic Sex, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Teasing, facesitting, mention of other sex stuff they've done in the past, no it's not Annie who gets DPed, strap on, threeway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missazrael/pseuds/missazrael
Summary: No one questions them when they get back; the cadets of the 104th have their own lives, their own secrets and hidden realities, and they know better than to ask questions for fear of getting answers they don’t want.
  Some members of the 104th have more secrets than most.  Sometimes, those secrets are a pleasure to keep.Kinks: femdom, dirty talk, strap ons, pegging, DP, cunnilingus, threeway, basically all the kinks came to this fic





	

Reiner is always the one to initiate things.

Of course he is; he glows with confidence, radiating it from the very center of his being, and if Bertolt didn’t love him with a fierceness that scares him sometimes, he’d probably hate him. There is no halfway with Reiner Braun, nothing he does that he doesn’t throw himself into, fully and entirely, and Bertolt is content to live in that shadow, to hide behind Reiner’s brilliance and trust him to know what to do.

“Hi, Annie.” Reiner flashes her a grin over breakfast one morning, his teeth even and white, his voice softer than its usual enormous boom. “Sleep well?”

She studies him from under her bangs, her white-blonde hair hanging over one piercing blue eye, and her gaze moves from Reiner, smiling and confident, to Bertolt, standing behind Reiner with his breakfast tray in his hands. He looks away, uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze, and shrugs one shoulder before daring to look back at her. 

She’s not smiling—Bertolt can’t remember the last time he saw her smile—but she doesn’t look as murderous as she had before, and she looks back at Reiner before giving him the barest hint of a nod, the tiniest incline of her head, her bangs fluttering like tiny wings with the motion. Then she turns on her heel and strides off, leaving them standing there.

Reiner elbows Bertolt in the ribs, nearly making him drop his tray, and keeps grinning as they move to their usual table and sit down.

“You’re happy today,” Connie grouches, still half-asleep and ill-tempered, and Reiner just laughs.

“It’s a beautiful day, my good man!”

Bertolt ducks his head low to hide how his cheeks are heating up, and concentrates on his breakfast. Reiner tries to engage Connie in conversation with limited success, but then Jean and Marco come over, and they’re more interactive at this early hour. They chatter away while Bertolt slowly eats his breakfast, and he’s not surprised when, a few moments later, he feels Reiner’s hand on his upper thigh. He doesn’t need to look up to know that Reiner isn’t looking at him, that Reiner’s still talking to the other boys, but he knows it’s Reiner’s hand on his leg, knows Reiner’s touch better than any other, and Bertolt has to hide a shiver as Reiner’s fingers move up the length of his leg, their touch a caress. He spreads his legs as Reiner’s hand moves upward, not wanting to draw attention to them but helpless to resist, and Reiner’s hand settles on Bertolt’s crotch, cupping him lovingly before closing his fingers in a slow, gentle squeeze.

Bertolt shudders, dropping his spoon with a clatter and trying to hide his reaction behind a fake cough, and Reiner’s hand glides away as Armin slides in beside Bertolt and pounds on his back with concern.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Bertolt tells Reiner reproachfully as they clear their trays and become a part of the mass exodus to the classrooms.

Reiner laughs and claps Bertolt on the shoulder, dragging him in close so they can speak without anyone else overhearing. “Had to readjust before you could stand up again?”

Bertolt flushes and pushes ineffectively at Reiner, who just latches onto him harder. He knows that, if he really wanted to, he could wrestle out of Reiner’s grip; he knows that if he started actively trying to get away, Reiner would let him go. He doesn’t really want to get away, and Reiner knows it. “We’re not wearing the gear today.”

If they were wearing the gear, the little leather apron would cover things, and Bertolt could use the straps that move across their hips to hold himself down. But today is a classroom day, and they’re wearing their casual clothes, the kind that are thin and worn, the kind that bend around any protrusion pushing against them. 

Reiner chuckles, and squeezes Bertolt in close, speaking up close to his ear, his breath warm and tickling over Bertolt’s skin. “I’m going to be thinking about that all day.” Bertolt hunches his shoulders, tugging on the front of his sweater, which only encourages Reiner. “Can’t wait to get you all to myself later, can’t wait to pull your titan out of your pants and…”

“Gods, get a room, you guys.”

Reiner lets go of Bertolt, to his mingled relief and frustration, and reaches out to cuff Jean on the back of the head. “What’s the matter, lover-boy? Dreaming of beautiful black hair again?”

“No!” Jean’s face turns red and he starts squawking, much to Reiner’s amusement, and by the time they arrive at the classrooms, Bertolt has things under control again.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Bertolt shares a bench with Reiner in the classroom, the same way they always do, and Reiner is in rare form today, paying attention to the instructor and answering questions, by anyone’s estimation a perfect student. Bertolt is the only one who knows what Reiner is really up to today: how he keeps bumping their knees together under the desk, how he curls his foot around Bertolt’s ankle, how when he lowers his hand after answering a question he skims his fingers along the back of Bertolt’s neck. The neck trick always gets to Bertolt, and he spends most of the day hunched over his desk, his back curved in a perfect bow shape, trying desperately not to draw attention to himself.

When they’re done with classes for the day, Bertolt stands up like a shot from a gun, nearly knocking the bench over. A few cadets turn to look at him, startled by the commotion, but Reiner just smiles, taking his time getting up, carefully putting all his things away, stretching luxuriously before standing up.

“How are you doing that?” Bertolt hisses in Reiner’s ear when he finally stands up; it feels like his skin is made of pins and needles, and he’s almost dancing where he stands. He doesn’t know how Reiner can be so calm and composed.

“Doing what?” Reiner drawls, his eyes heavy-lidded and lazy as he rests one hand on the small of Bertolt’s back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do too, you liar.” Bertolt has been fighting with his lower half all day, and it still feels like he barely has enough blood coursing through his body, like he’s just had to steam away some horrible injury and isn’t entirely replenished.

Reiner chuckles, low and sweet and musical, as he and Bertolt leave together, the last ones out of the classroom. “I might have some idea.” His hand drops from Bertolt’s back to his rear, and Bertolt sucks in a breath as Reiner squeezes him. “But why don’t we go somewhere else and you can tell me all about it?”

“You’re terrible.” And Reiner is terrible, terrible and beautiful and precious, and if Bertolt loved him any more, he’s sure his heart would burst in his chest.

Reiner guides them to the spot where they always meet, and once they’re deep in the woods, far away from prying eyes, Reiner drops his hand to Bertolt’s groin, unbuttoning his pants with one smooth motion and shoving his hand inside, and Bertolt groans as Reiner wraps his fingers around him. He’s been half-hard all day from Reiner’s relentless teasing, and Reiner’s hand on him is sweet relief. Bertolt almost stops walking right there, but Reiner pulls him along, coaxing Bertolt into moving again with a few quick pumps of his hand, and Bertolt keeps moving, if only so Reiner’s hand on him doesn’t stop. He can hear Reiner breathing ahead of him, the way Reiner’s breath is speeding up, rumbling in his chest, and Bertolt is almost dizzy with anticipation by the time they burst into the clearing.

“Took you long enough.” Annie unfolds herself from the log where she’d been sitting, looking cool and beautiful and entirely unimpressed by the two panting, sweaty boys in front of her, both of them sporting impressive erections. Bertolt doesn’t even have to look to know that Reiner is hard too, and his cock twitches in Reiner’s hand at the thought. 

“Sorry,” Reiner says, but the way he’s smiling makes it clear that he’s not sorry at all. “Bertolt was having some problems with getting too excited.”

“Because of you!”

Reiner shrugs, unabashed; the fact that he still has his hand down Bertolt’s pants does nothing to sell his innocence. “Sorry,” he repeats, and unceremoniously starts to unbutton his own pants with his free hand. “Didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“You’re going to make it up to me later.” And just like that, Annie dismisses Reiner and focuses her attention on Bertolt, crossing through the clearing until she’s standing right in front of him. She has to look up to meet his eyes, and he has to look down, but they make it work. Annie puts one hand on Reiner’s chest and shoves him away, and Reiner takes a few steps to the side, his hand pulling out of Bertolt’s pants. Without any support, Bertolt’s pants drop, sagging around his knees, and he shivers as the cool outside air hits his cock. 

Annie glances down at it, raising an eyebrow at it like it’s barely worth her time, then reaches up and grabs Bertolt’s shirt with both hands, pulling him down until he’s at her level. Bertolt lets her, knowing full well she’ll tear his shirt if he doesn’t, stooping until his back is bowed again and he could kiss her if he wanted to.

He doesn’t. She wouldn’t want that.

“Bertolt Hoover,” Annie tells him, looking directly into his eyes, and Bertolt swallows, half lost in their bright, clear depths, “I don’t share my bunk, meaning that I haven’t gotten off since the last time we did this, so you’re going to eat me out until I’ve had enough. Understood?”

Bertolt nods, his cock throbbing with the beat of his heart, and Annie, in a rare show of affection, stretches up and brushes her lips across the bridge of his nose. Bertolt blinks, surprised, and she lets him go so he can straighten back up.

“Why don’t you ever tell me to do that?” Reiner complains from nearby, and when Bertolt glances over at him, he’s already naked, completely stripped and holding his cock in one hand.

“Because you’re terrible at it.” Annie is unapologetic, and starts taking off her clothes, quick and efficient, no wasted movements, which Bertolt thinks is much more sexy than taking them off slow. Her body is revealed one small, sinuous part at a time, until she’s naked too, pale and tight and compact, and she jerks her chin at him in irritation. “Come on, take it off.”

If Reiner is the one who initiates, Annie is the one who prepares; while Bertolt clumsily strips out of his clothes and folds them, unable to drop them in a heap the way the others do, Annie digs in a bag she brought, finding an old, threadbare blanket and laying it out on the ground. Once Bertolt is naked, shivering from cold and anticipation, she gestures to it with one lazy hand. “There. On your back.”

“I like him on his back,” Reiner chimes in as Bertolt lowers himself to the blanket and rolls over. Reiner crouches at the edge of the blanket, his eyes crawling up and down Bertolt’s nude form, drinking it in. “Doesn’t he look good on his back, Annie?”

“He’ll look even better with my thighs around his head,” she sniffs, and Bertolt looks up at her, taken aback but pleased by the compliment. She towers over him, taller than he is for a change, and he thinks, not for the first time, that she looks like a goddess like this, like she’s been carved from marble and set on a pillar for him to worship. 

It’s not far from the truth, especially as she puts her feet on either side of his head and bends her knees. She rests her knees on his shoulders, subtly pinning him down, and Bertolt closes his eyes as she descends on him, enveloping him in her heat and scent. She smells wild, like the wooded area around their village, musky and dark and secretive, and he breathes in through his nose.

She swats him on the chest, bending forward and bracing her hands on him. “Less sniffing, more licking.”

Bertolt can hear Reiner laughing down near his feet, and he lifts his arms, resting his hands along the top of Annie’s thighs, gently pulling them a little further apart. She complies, her knees digging into his shoulders hard enough to be painful, but he doesn’t mind. The pain is worth it, and he can steam away any bruises she might leave behind later. Bertolt opens his mouth, and when before he had been surrounded by her scent, now he has her taste as well, salty across his tongue, and he moves his head until he finds the right position. The tip of his nose pushes in against her, parting her, sliding inside her, and Bertolt tilts his chin forward so he can lap at the top of her cleft, where he knows she likes it.

Annie sighs above him, and he can feel her hands tighten into fists on his chest. Her thighs move and flex on either side of his face, and it’s like he’s been consumed, swallowed whole by her. He remembers riding in her warrior’s mouth, carried to the wall, Reiner beside him, her great warrior churning up the ground beneath its feet, carrying them to their destiny. It’s like that, the same feeling of inevitability, of letting go, and Bertolt groans against the folds of her flesh.

“Looks like he’s having fun,” Bertolt hears Reiner say, and then he feels Reiner’s hands on him, parting his legs and moving between them, his hand then moving to Bertolt’s cock, tracing a line up it, from base to head.

“You take care of that.” Annie sounds breathless above him, and Bertolt can feel the wet she produces already starting to run down his cheekbones. “Just don’t distract him.”

“Of course not.” Reiner sounds almost offended, and from his position between Annie’s thighs, Bertolt smiles.

For having just made a promise not to be distracting, Reiner has no trouble breaking it immediately. Only a moment passes before Bertolt feels Reiner’s tongue moving on his thighs, ghosting along the scars left by the maneuver gear, lingering in the places where Bertolt’s skin dips low between his muscles. Reiner knows all the best spots on Bertolt’s body, the places that make Bertolt weak in the knees and reduce him to a trembling mess, the secrets and mysteries that Bertolt barely understands himself. Bertolt has always been someone who learns through doing, but he takes no joy in it, gets no real pleasure from his natural athleticism and the feats he can push his body through; in the end, it just reminds him of what’s coming, of what he’ll have to make his body do, and he shies away from that eventuality, creeping ever closer. It’s only through Reiner and Annie that he’s able to, for a few brief, shining moments, appreciate and even love all that his body can do. It’s only when he’s with them that Bertolt feels whole.

His tongue must have faltered, because Annie thumps him on the chest. “Don’t you dare stop!” she hisses, then makes a soft, vulnerable sound that’s almost a sob. “I’m so damn close…”

Reiner pulls back, kissing the inside of Bertolt’s knees, genuinely trying to not interfere with what Annie’s chasing, and Bertolt redoubles his efforts, lifting his head as best he can and going hard, his tongue moving as fast as it can. He knows Annie needs pressure and speed to finish, and he concentrates on her little nub, his world narrowing down to her smell and taste, to her fluids on his cheeks, to the way her thigh muscles tremble on either side of his head.

Annie gasps above him, her legs clenching, the muscles as solid as though they were carved from wood, and everything tightens around Bertolt for a split second of pain, and then she relaxes with a gush of warm fluid onto his face. Annie sags forward, leaning heavily on Bertolt’s chest, and he slows his tongue, feeling her flesh quiver around him as she rocks through her orgasm.

“You make the funniest faces when that happens.”

Bertolt can’t see the gesture Annie makes, although he feels her lift one hand off his chest, but whatever it is, it makes Reiner laugh. “You going to want to ride this later?” he asks, and his fingers wrap around Bertolt’s cock, cradling it in his palm, Reiner’s work-roughened thumb rubbing underneath the head, gently pulling back its hood to show the unprotected tip.

“Yes.” Annie is out of breath, panting like she’d just gone on a long run. “Get it ready for me.” 

Bertolt can’t help the way he trembles with excitement at that prospect, and Annie pinches one of his nipples to get his attention. “You’re not done yet. Again.”

Bertolt makes a soft whining sound, half because of the jolt he’d gotten from having his nipple pinched, and Annie squeezes his head between her thighs. “ _Again_.”

Bertolt starts up again, aware that she’s going to need a harder touch this time, more pressure from his tongue, and Annie groans softly. A few licks in and she’s grinding herself down on his face, her hands clenched into fists against his chest. She pushes down hard enough to slam Bertolt’s head into the ground, and he sees stars for a moment, his tongue faltering as he steams away the injury without thinking.

Between his legs, Reiner moves around, positioning himself, unscrewing the lid off a jar of grease, taking Bertolt’s ankles and kissing each one before propping them against his shoulders. Reiner knows how much Bertolt worries about his ankles, how afraid he is of hurting them and being crippled, of losing his mobility and stumbling around like his warrior, and Bertolt links his ankles behind Reiner’s neck, where they’ll be out of the way and protected. Reiner lets him, pushing Bertolt’s knees apart and dropping down between his legs, and Bertolt shivers as he feels Reiner’s blunt fingers circling his hole.

Subtlety and grace have never been Reiner’s strong points, especially not in this, and Bertolt gasps against Annie when Reiner pushes two fingers in, wincing against the bright flash of pain. It’s almost immediately drowned out, the way he knew it would be, when Reiner crooks his fingers forward and presses them against the spot he knew was there. Bertolt has no idea how Reiner does it, but he can find that spot every time, and work it until Bertolt is sobbing and begging for release, never quite tipping him over the edge until Reiner is damn good and ready to let him let go. The pain is replaced by pure, blinding pleasure, and if Bertolt’s face wasn’t already buried in Annie, he’d close his eyes.

Reiner chuckles from between Bertolt’s legs, and starts thrusting his fingers in and out, rough and fast, the way he knows Bertolt likes it, every thrust hitting that spot and sending electricity racing up and down Bertolt’s spine. “You want to get wrecked?” he asks, and Bertolt whines into Annie’s flesh as Reiner pushes a third finger in him, and then a fourth, his thumb tucked under his hand and popping in and out of Bertolt when he pushes all the way to the base of his fingers. “You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Bertolt _does_ want to get ruined, very badly; he wants to fuck himself down on Reiner’s fist, tearing himself on the force of it until Reiner’s arm and shoulder are enveloped in steam, until he can see the bulge of Reiner’s hand through his abdomen, until he’s been stretched and filled almost beyond endurance and everything blurs away for a little while, everything becoming inconsequential, until the only thing that he can feel is the stretch and burn and Reiner’s arm pushing him wide.

“No,” Annie pants, and Reiner pauses, his knuckles pushing at Bertolt’s entrance, almost pushed all the way inside, and Bertolt redoubles his efforts, thinking that if she comes again, maybe she’ll let Reiner wreck him. She’s watched it before, and came so hard that Bertolt almost choked on the spray from between her legs. “No wrecking.”

“Why not?” Reiner asks, but even as he does, he starts to pull his hand out, and Bertolt feels frustrated tears prickle behind his eyelids.

“I have… other plans.” Annie’s voice is breathless, the way it gets when she’s close, and she grinds down on Bertolt, rubbing dirt into his hair and making his jaw cramp. “You’ll like it. Fuck him instead.”

“Like I’d ever say no to _that_.” Reiner’s hand pops free, and he reaches behind his neck, taking hold of Bertolt’s ankles and carefully uncrossing them. He takes a moment to hold one ankle in each hand, his fingers wrapping protectively around them, and Bertolt feels him kiss each one, his lips brushing over the spot where the bone protrudes, the spot where they feel the weakest, before Reiner props them over his shoulders again and sits up. He shuffles closer, lifting the lower half of Bertolt’s body and dragging him and Annie both forward like they weigh nothing, and Bertolt’s ass settles across Reiner’s thighs.

“Mmmmm…” A nudge at his entrance, a soft, circling motion as Reiner rubs the head of his cock against Bertolt’s hole. “Even when you’re not wrecked, you’ve got the sweetest ass.”

Annie snorts, and Reiner shoves himself in with one long thrust.

Bertolt yelps against Annie, the sound lost in her folds. He knows how big Reiner is, knows Reiner’s cock almost as well as he knows his own, and yet it still surprises him every time he’s entered, the weight and girth and heft of Reiner inside him. Bertolt groans and shifts his hips back and forth, getting used to the way he’s gaping wide open, and Reiner holds him steady and waits. Bertolt knows he doesn’t have long to adjust, and it’s only a few moments later that Reiner is pulling away before slamming into him, his hands tightening on Bertolt’s thighs and his cock pistoning in and out of Bertolt.

Annie groans in chorus with Bertolt, and he feels her muscles tighten around him again, the little ones between her legs fluttering against his cheeks. She pushes down at the same moment that Reiner pushes in, and Bertolt feels compressed from both sides, like they’re trying to squeeze him out of existence, collapse him inward and make him disappear, and the thought is so exhilarating, so freeing, that he almost loses control right there.

Annie beats him to it, her thighs squeezing around his head and her fluids exploding outward, drenching Bertolt’s face and splashing his neck and the upper parts of his chest, and she makes little gasping noises as she rocks back and forth, grinding down on him as she rides it out. Bertolt pauses, his body jolting from each of Reiner’s hard thrusts, and when Annie collapses forward onto his chest, he blinks his eyes against the sudden light and takes a deep breath of fresh, cool air.

Reiner chuckles, starting to sound a little breathless himself. “It’s so hot when you do that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bertolt can feel Annie’s heartbeat pounding against his stomach, betraying her nonchalant tone. His eyes adjust, and he looks down his nose, to where Annie looms large in his vision, blocking out Reiner and the rest of Bertolt’s body. Her skin is flushed pink, slick with the wetness of her two orgasms, her silvery hair matted down and tangled with liquid. Bertolt pulls one arm back, cradling it behind his head, and starts licking her skin, cleaning the mess away.

“He’s licking you, isn’t he?” 

“Uh huh.” Bertolt feels Annie cross her arms over his abdomen and pillow her head in them. “Don’t let him come yet.”

“You got it.” Reiner lets go of one of Bertolt’s thighs and drops his hand, gripping Bertolt’s balls around their base and holding them tight. Bertolt whines—he’d been getting so close, already drooling precome onto his belly with every one of Reiner’s thrusts—and Reiner laughs. “Lady’s orders, buddy.”

“Damn straight.” Annie sits up, pulling out of Bertolt’s reach, and perches near his collarbones, watching with interest as Reiner fucks him. Bertolt can feel his cock thumping heavily against his abdomen every time Reiner slams his hips forward, the head of it scratching along the thick, dark trail of hair he has running from his navel to between his legs, and he makes a desperate whimpering noise.

It catches Annie’s attention, and she looks over her shoulder at him. Anyone who didn’t know her better would think she wore an expression of vague disinterest, but he can see the way her eyes are glittering, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and Bertolt knows that she isn’t disinterested in the slightest. 

“You getting hot down there, Bertl?” She lifts herself and gracefully turns around, resettling on his chest, her hands resting lightly on his collarbones, looking down at him, her hair falling forward and catching the late afternoon sunlight, turning a bright, dazzling gold.

He nods, and the faintest trace of a smile dances over her lips, there and then gone. “Want me to make it go away?”

Bertolt nods again, a soft cry escaping him as Reiner hits him just right. His balls are throbbing in Reiner’s grip, so full and tight that they feel like they could explode, aching around the tight seal of Reiner’s thick fingers.

“I bet you do.” Annie leans forward, her back bowing gracefully, and her face is above his, blocking out the sun, filling the whole world. If she wanted to, she could move in and press their lips together, and then Bertolt wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself, wouldn’t be able to not reach up and touch her. She lowers her voice, softens it until it’s for him and him alone. “What if I don’t let you? What if Reiner and I take turns fucking you, and we never let you come?”

Bertolt’s air catches in his throat, a series of lurid images flashing behind his eyes at her suggestion. It’s something he’s thought about before, something he’s considered but never been able to ask for, to put into words, and he stares up at Annie with wide eyes, wondering if she’s somehow read his mind.

That faint, hardly there smile again, the only one anyone ever sees anymore, and Annie leans close enough for him to feel her breath on his lips, warm and gentle as the first breezes of spring. “You’ve always been my favorite whore.”

Bertolt’s hips jerk forward, and Reiner almost loses his grip on him. “What’d you _say_?” he asks, retightening his hold on Bertolt, and he sounds both impressed and jealous, as if he doesn’t have his own little phrases and sweet nothings that reduce Bertolt into complete helplessness and devotion.

Bertolt can’t answer; he can only gaze up at Annie, his eyes wide and pupils dilated, and he surges upward. The rules be damned, he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her lips crushed against his and the taste of her mouth, a forbidden fruit, across his tongue.

She’s too fast for him; even as Bertolt is closing the scant distance between them, she’s sliding back, out of his reach, pushing on his chest and moving down the length of his torso. “Nothing important,” she tells Reiner, but she’s watching Bertolt, and she looks pleased with herself, happy with the reaction she’s caused, but behind the smirk on her lips, there’s a deep, untouchable sadness, a darkness neither of them has ever been able to reach—Reiner because he respects her space and Bertolt because he has neither Reiner’s gift with words nor his boldness with his body—and for a moment, Bertolt’s chest aches for her. He wishes she would let him in, would let him share her misery, would let him be more to her than the occasional fuck in the woods. He dreams, sometimes, about traveling in her warrior’s mouth again, curled close beside Reiner, except this time they’re running away from the walls. This time they’re going home.

If Annie is remembering their journey to the walls, she doesn’t show it. She shifts backwards until she’s crouched over Bertolt’s abdomen, tantalizingly close, close enough that he can feel the heat of her body radiating onto his cock. She glances over her shoulder at Reiner, and he doesn’t need any instruction; he takes his hand off Bertolt’s thigh and reaches between his legs, holding the base of his cock and propping him up, lifting him so he rises into the air, rigid and proud. Annie nods, and then lifts herself up, positions herself, and Bertolt holds his breath as she starts to slowly lower herself onto him.

Reiner keeps still, half in and half out of Bertolt, and he could be mistaken for a statue if not for how Bertolt can feel his heart pounding through his erection, the veins in Reiner’s cock throbbing against the edges of Bertolt’s hole, pushing him a fraction wider with every heartbeat. Reiner knows that Annie is petite all over and that it’s always a struggle for her to take Bertolt in, and he waits, holding Bertolt up, and only Bertolt can see the way his pupils start to dilate as he watches Annie painstakingly slide herself down onto Bertolt’s length.

She bites her lip and closes her eyes, her face drawn together in concentration, and Annie clenches her fists over Bertolt’s belly, her fingers tangling in his mat of hair. Her heat is exquisite, her inner walls so tight it always feels like he’s going to tear her apart, and Bertolt remembers the first time they’d tried this, and how she’d gotten halfway onto him before erupting with steam and leaping off. It’s easier with Reiner, he knows, but Annie always chooses Bertolt first.

He tries not to instill too much meaning behind that.

Annie doesn’t let out the breath she’s holding until Bertolt feels himself bottom out, until she’s settled over his lap and he can feel the muscles of her thighs trembling against his hips. Reiner grunts softly and moves his hand, letting go of Bertolt and resting it on Annie’s waist, asking silent permission. She breathes deep, her fingers rippling like waves across Bertolt’s abdomen, before nodding.

Reiner pushes forward all at once, making them both gasp, making Annie jolt forward, making her slide wetly along Bertolt, and Bertolt groans out loud as he’s assaulted from both sides. Annie falls back as Reiner pulls out, and they quickly find a rhythm, as they always do, Annie riding Bertolt in time to Reiner’s thrusts, the two of them merciless with their constant, alternating sensation. Even with Reiner still holding his balls, Bertolt can feel the pressure building, can feel himself getting ready to let loose, and to distract himself, he slips a hand between Annie’s legs. He finds her nub and rubs it with the same enthusiasm that he uses with his tongue, his fingers slipping in and out from between her folds with each of Reiner’s thrusts. 

Annie curses softly, her voice low and almost thoughtful, and bows her head, concentrating and riding towards another orgasm. Reiner wraps his arm around her waist, crushing her back against his chest, and manages to kiss the side of her neck before she elbows him to make him stop. Her elbow doesn’t have its usual vigor, though, and Reiner keeps his arm around her. They’re beautiful like this, sweating and joined together, Reiner’s skin flushing in rosy blooms all along his chest and shoulders, Annie pale as marble against him, a statue given life, and Bertolt wishes he could paint, that he could draw like Jean does, and capture them like this. He wishes he had the skill to recreate them, to turn them into something that would last forever, just like this, but his only talents are destruction and violence; he doesn’t have the ability to create beautiful things, only chaos.

Annie makes a high-pitched whining sound, a sound very unlike her, one Bertolt knows only he and Reiner get to hear, and arches her back against Reiner’s chest, pushing against his arm so hard that he has to loosen it, has to allow her to move away. Bertolt’s hand is suddenly slick and wet, dripping with her, covered in her essence, and she tightens around him, her muscles clamping down and spasming around his length, sweet torture that has him whining in chorus. Reiner suddenly releases him, lets loose his grip on Bertolt’s balls, and Bertolt’s orgasm is instantaneous, hitting him like lightning, so devastating and exhilarating that his vision goes dark for a moment as the world swims away. 

It comes rushing back when Reiner releases Annie and she slumps forward, landing on Bertolt’s chest with a sigh. She drags along his cock as she falls, but not enough to pull away completely, and the friction has Bertolt shuddering and releasing another spurt. Annie doesn’t seem to mind; she lays across him and cradles her head in her arms, breathing heavily, and Bertolt can feel her heart pounding against his chest, beating in chorus with his own. He lifts his arms and wraps them loosely around her waist, and Annie allows it, only burrowing her face deeper into her arms until her nose is touching Bertolt’s collarbone, and he wonders if she’s trying to smell him.

Reiner grunts and pulls out, setting Bertolt’s hips and legs down on the blanket with a gentleness that seems completely incongruous with his size. He hasn’t come, but Bertolt knows Reiner likes to deny himself, that he enjoys the feeling of getting close and then pulling back, the feeling of coaxing himself into finally letting go. Sometimes, when Bertolt wakes up in the middle of the night, caught between sleep and a nightmare, he knows that Reiner likes to hold back because it’s all he knows, that he likes denial for the same reasons Bertolt likes pain, and he wishes Reiner could just let go, could embrace life the way he wants to and be as sparkling and golden as he wants to be. But then everyone else would love him the same way Bertolt does, and Bertolt knows he would stand no chance of holding onto Reiner then, that he would end up with someone better, someone more worthy of him, and, in his most selfless moments, Bertolt wishes that he could.

Reiner moves and fusses at the edge of the blanket, and Bertolt hears the sound of splashing. He smiles a little, burying his nose in Annie’s mussed hair; she thinks of everything. He can feel her heart slowing down, and he softens enough that he slips free of her, his cock laying flaccid and exhausted against his thigh. Annie murmurs something into his chest, something so soft that Bertolt can’t hear it, but he doesn’t ask her to repeat herself, just tightens his arms a little around her. She sighs again and gets more comfortable, straightening her arms and wrapping them around his neck, her cheek resting on his chest, her head in the space between Bertolt’s shoulder and neck, and Bertolt wishes, just for a moment, that it could always be like this between them. He likes Annie when she’s soft, when she’s gentle, in those rare moments when she lets the ice inside her melt, and he wishes she would allow them in more than just the aftermath of a series of orgasms.

Reiner looms over Annie’s shoulder, his brows drawn down, his face pensive. He crouches over Bertolt’s legs, kneeling on the blanket, and he reaches out, touching the back of Annie’s thighs. She shifts on Bertolt, loosening her arms from around his neck—he can still feel them there, burning like brands on his skin—and bracing her hands on his chest. She spreads her legs further apart, lifts her hips a little, and nods her head.

Reiner makes a sound that’s half groan and half sigh before shuffling forward, gripping Annie’s hips with his huge hands and pulling her back a little. He shoves inside her with one smooth motion, her entrance slippery and wet with her and Bertolt’s combined fluids, her way stretched wide by Bertolt’s girth, and they both shudder when Reiner bottoms out inside her. Reiner falls forward, bracing his hands on either side of Bertolt’s torso, and starts thrusting, quick and eager, desperate and aching for release. Annie pushes back on Bertolt’s chest, meeting each of Reiner’s thrusts with one of her own, and Bertolt watches both of their faces, their concentration, the beads of sweat forming on their skin. It’s a wonderful view, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he keeps one hand on Annie’s waist, the other on Reiner’s arm, touching both of them at the same time, the two people he loves the most, the two people he’d die for.

Reiner doesn’t last long; he couldn’t have, not after that buildup. He comes with a shudder and a grunt, and Bertolt can feel Reiner’s arm trembling under his hand, the muscles twitching and leaping beneath his skin. Annie’s breath hitches as Reiner spills inside her, and she hides her face in Bertolt’s chest again as Reiner topples to the side, pulling out of her and landing with a ground-shaking thud next to Bertolt. Reiner reaches for them almost immediately, and Annie stays in one spot, letting Reiner put his arms around both of them, and Bertolt sighs with contentment.

Annie doesn’t stay long; Reiner’s heartbeat has barely begun to slow before she’s squirming under the weight of their arms, restless and trying to free herself. Reiner lets her go at once, wrapping his arms around Bertolt instead, but Bertolt is more reluctant, keeping his arms looped around her waist, hoping against hope that she’ll stay. She gives him a look, and it only takes one before he’s opening his arms and letting her go. Annie slides away and gets to her feet, the insides of her thighs wet and silvery with fluid, and moves to the edge of the blanket before crouching down again, blocked by Reiner’s body.

While Annie might refuse to be kissed, Reiner has no such qualms, and with Annie off Bertolt’s chest, he makes his move. He props himself up on one elbow and puts his rough, work-callused hand on Bertolt’s face, gently turning his head so he can bend low and capture Bertolt’s mouth in a kiss. Reiner loves kissing, and as Bertolt lifts his arms to curl them around Reiner’s neck, to rest them across his broad, protective shoulders, he thinks about all the nights in their bunk, spent exactly like this, arms tight around each other, lips sealed together in hunger, so close that sometimes it seemed like they’d been one person, sharing blood and breath and life. Reiner shifts his weight, moving himself half on top of Bertolt, entwining their legs, his weight settling on Bertolt’s chest. He’s heavier than Annie, so much heavier, and it’s somehow reassuring, even comforting, having that weight pressed down on him, even as it makes Bertolt’s chest tight with half-drawn breaths.

“You look like you’re trying to eat each other’s faces.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Reiner responds tartly, his tone muffled by Bertolt’s lips.

“Hmph.” Bertolt hears the sound of Annie’s footsteps, louder and heavier than they have any right to be, and realizes she’s standing at their tangled feet, her stance open and wide above their ankles. “I realized something, Reiner.”

“What’s that?” Reiner combs a hand through Bertolt’s hair, brushing it back and off his forehead, and Bertolt has to repress the urge to purr like a cat.

“I realized that you’re the only one here who hasn’t had anyone inside them.”

Reiner snorts surprised laughter, the sudden gust of air tickling Bertolt’s cheek. “Was planning on asking Bertl to take care of me later.”

“No.”

“No?” That’s enough to get Reiner’s attention, and he breaks away from Bertolt, pushing himself up halfway and looking over his shoulder. “What are you… _oh_.”

Bertolt watches Reiner’s eyes go wide as his words stutter and die in his throat, and it’s so rare for Reiner to be struck dumb that Bertolt gets his elbows underneath him, sitting up partway and peeking out at Annie from under Reiner’s arm.

She’s standing at their feet, still naked, still proud, her hands on her hips, and at first, Bertolt thinks she put her maneuver gear on while they were busy kissing; she’s wearing something with straps, something that comes down to cover her mound, much like a modified maneuver gear apron. It looks, to Bertolt’s confused eyes, like she’s wearing one of the wooden knives they use in hand-to-hand combat training, that she’s somehow wedged it in her gear and has it jutting out like a cock. 

“God _damn_ , Annie,” Reiner breathes as he scrambles to his knees, getting closer to investigate. “Where’d you get _that_?”

It _is_ a cock, Bertolt realizes as he sits up. It’s a carved wooden cock, the cuts on it rough but not without skill, polished to a dull sheen, dripping with lubricating grease, somehow attached to Annie’s modified gear and worn like she’d grown it herself.

“I made it,” she tells Reiner, swatting his hand away as he reaches out to touch it, and her spine straightens a little, her chest puffing out with her next breath.

“How’d you figure it out?” Reiner asked, staring at it, mesmerized.

Annie shrugs. “I’m not the only one in the Corps who wants to have a cock now and again.”

Reiner blinks. “Wait… who else?”

Spots of color rise on Annie’s cheeks, and rather than answer, she puts her foot on Reiner’s chest and shoves him back onto the blanket. Bertolt gets out of the way so Reiner doesn’t land on him, and Annie shoots him a quick glance before turning her attention back to Reiner. “Get on your hands and knees.”

Reiner has always been a quick study, and he flips himself over, balancing on his hands and sticking his ass back and into the air. He’s shameless, shameless and confident in a way Bertolt knows he can never be himself, and he can’t help admiring how incredible Reiner looks like this, bent over and waiting, flushes of color on his chest and shoulders again, his dick already starting to perk back up with interest. Annie steps nimbly behind him and kneels, grasping his hips and jerking them backwards, frowning as she tries to line herself up before pushing hard on the small of Reiner’s back. “Lower.”

Reiner obediently drops further down, his knees splayed wide on the blanket, his cock almost dragging on the ground. He must be lined up, because Annie nods curtly and tightens her grip on him. “Hold still,” she instructs, and Reiner freezes like he’s made of marble, and Bertolt is somehow reminded of the Armored Warrior and his milky, opaque eyes, hidden behind a shield of white.

Annie slams her hips forward all at once, and Reiner lowers his head and bites back a muffled curse. “ _Shit_ , you have to be so rough?”

“You like it.” Annie is completely unapologetic, and Reiner doesn’t contradict her. “You like it, and you never get it from _him_.”

Bertolt starts: is that true? He knows that _he_ likes it rough, likes it when Reiner or, more likely, Annie bark orders at him, when they use him, when they make him dance that knife’s edge between agony and exhilaration. He likes it enough to ask for it, on those occasions when he can find it in himself to ask for anything, and they’ve never denied him. But Reiner? Does Reiner want the same? He’s never mentioned it, and Bertolt feels something in his chest tear open, feels exposed even as he lays on the blanket, watching the glistening, entangled couple before him. Has he been wrong this whole time? He knows Reiner doesn’t like hurting him, that Reiner doesn’t get any pleasure from Bertolt’s pain, but he’d never considered that Reiner might like it himself. Has he really been so selfish?

Bertolt cranes his neck, trying to meet Reiner’s eyes, but he has his head down, bracing against Annie’s thrusts, and Bertolt can see how the muscles in his arms and legs are standing out, rigid and trembling. Reiner is erect again, his cock thumping on his abdomen with every time Annie shoves forward into him, and Bertolt has a single moment of white-hot fury with her; how dare she? How dare she say something like that, and distract him from such a magnificent sight?

“Bertolt.” Her voice comes out between pants, and even in his anger, Bertolt snaps to attention, tearing his gaze away from Reiner to look at her. Her hair has fallen forward into her face, but her eyes are bright and glittering behind the curtain of it. “This sloppy asshole feels a little empty. Help me fill it.”

“God, _yes_.” Reiner understands faster than Bertolt does, and his groan is guttural and visceral, so genuine it almost hurts to hear it. He looks up, the motion jarring a droplet free from his sweat-damp hair and sending it to splash against Bertolt’s cheek. His eyes find Bertolt’s, and they’re burning, burning liquid gold with need, with pure want. “Please, Bertolt, god, please do it…”

Annie hits him, her hand making a sharp retort against Reiner’s muscular ass cheek. “No one asked you,” she tells him, and Reiner’s mouth shuts with a snap. She looks up, and now Bertolt is pinned under both their gazes, helpless to resist under their dual onslaught.

“How?” he asks, unsure, and Reiner sighs and grins at him while Annie rolls her eyes.

“Get underneath him,” she instructs, and stops moving while Bertolt wiggles himself under Reiner, under the scant distance he’s hovering over the ground, so low that Bertolt ends up dragging along him. It’s that long, slow drag, more than anything, that has Bertolt erect and swollen again by the time he’s under Reiner’s hips, his legs between Annie’s spread knees. Reiner above him is familiar, comforting, and Bertolt reaches up to cup both hands behind Reiner’s neck, an unspoken promise between the two of them.

Annie looks between her legs, and nudges Bertolt’s legs with her knees until he lifts them and she sits back on his thighs, settling her weight across them, pulling Reiner with her. The motion lowers Reiner even further, and his chest skims against Bertolt’s, his face close enough for Bertolt to feel Reiner’s breath on his cheek. 

His cock is wedged between them until Annie fishes into the tangle of their bodies and pulls it free. Bertolt feels it collide with Annie’s wooden one, and the drag and slide of the wooden cock as Annie pulls it back while she adjusts them both, while she holds Bertolt at Reiner’s entrance, already filled with her and twitching at the edges. “Go,” she says, and it’s unclear who she means.

Reiner doesn’t wait for clarification; he pushes back, and Bertolt feels a moment of resistance, a block against his intrusion, before Reiner’s body gives way and he stretches around him. Annie lets go of Bertolt and starts pushing in herself, and Bertolt moves with her, dragging against the wooden cock that could have been part of Annie forever.

It’s a tight fit, tighter than anything Bertolt has ever experienced, tighter even than Annie herself when she hasn’t come first, Reiner enveloping both of them, pressing Bertolt into Annie and squeezing them both together. Annie’s ass moves and flexes against Bertolt’s thighs, and he finds he doesn’t need to thrust at all; he can hardly move with both their weight pressing down on him, and all he can do it hold still while they ride on top of him, using him like he’s less real than Annie’s newest wooden appendage.

Reiner relaxes his arms and lays broad on top of Bertolt, trapping his cock between them, where it scrapes over the hair on Bertolt’s abdomen with every one of Annie’s thrusts. He uses his arms to frame Bertolt’s head and dives in for another kiss, although it’s less a kiss and more Reiner pressing his open mouth over Bertolt’s and panting as he’s stretched wide. Bertolt doesn’t mind; he keeps his hands over the back of Reiner’s neck, letting him be vulnerable, letting him have this moment, this temporary release of his responsibilities. Reiner’s heart thunders next to Bertolt’s, his exhales pour into Bertolt’s mouth, and Annie moves both of them with every twitch of her hips.

Bertolt has no idea how she knows when Reiner comes, but she does, somehow; Annie stops moving when Reiner tightens around them, squeezing so tight and pressing Bertolt so hard into Annie’s cock that it comes with a bright flash of pain. Reiner moans, his throat sounding like it’s ripping apart, and he splatters all over Bertolt’s belly. Annie waits as Reiner shivers through his orgasm before pulling out, and she reaches out and grabs Bertolt’s balls before he can thrust on his own and chase his own release. 

He whines—his poor abused nuts—but Annie is impervious to begging, as Bertolt knew she’d be. She pushes on Reiner’s hip with her free hand. “Move,” she orders, and Reiner rolls to the side, temporarily crushing and paralyzing under his full weight for a split second before he lands on his side. Reiner lays next to Bertolt, stunned and panting, his eyes glazed and unfocused, as Annie reaches behind her to find a cleansing rag and swabs off Bertolt’s cock. The chatter of buckles, the slide of leather through metal, and she’s crouched over Bertolt’s hips again, lowering herself down onto him.

Bertolt swallows and finds her thighs with both hands, holding onto her as she slides around him. After the strangling grip of Reiner’s overfilled body, she feels almost loose around him, and it’s a new sensation, one he’s never associated with Annie.

She starts rocking back and forth almost immediately, her eyes closed and her head tilted back as she rides him. Bertolt aches with overstimulation underneath her, his cock rubbed raw by her wooden cock, now laying abandoned beside him. 

Reiner lifts himself from the blanket and moves behind Annie; she shoots him a suspicious look, but Reiner’s cock is flaccid and spent between his legs, dangling unthreatening against his thigh. He presses in close behind her and wraps one arm around her waist, dropping his other hand between her legs and rubbing at her with eager fingers. It’s a sweet attempt, but it only takes one look for Bertolt to realize Reiner is aiming too high, his fingertips positioned on her mound and not where they need to be. Before Annie gets irritated and pushes him away, Bertolt reaches up and adjusts Reiner’s hand, positioning his fingers where they need to be and rubbing alongside them, and rather than anger, Annie chooses to chase her orgasm instead.

Bertolt didn’t think he’d be able to come again, but when Annie cries out and her muscles ripple all along his length, he surprises himself and comes with her, one final spurt deep into her body. He has the presence of mind to push Reiner’s still moving hand away, knowing that Annie won’t want more stimulation, and then lets everything fall away for a few moments.

He comes back into himself with Annie on his chest again and Reiner curled beside him, a head on both of his shoulders, and warmth around him on all sides. They stay together, exhausted and spent, for longer than usual, laying in the dappled sunlight of the rapidly fading day, and it’s Reiner who sits up first.

“We need to get back,” he says with real regret, and gets to his knees, wiping himself off with one of Annie’s cleaning clothes.

Annie sighs, her arms tightening around Bertolt’s neck for a fraction of a second before she melts away, too quick for him to catch. She finds another cloth and wipes between her legs, wincing a little, and Reiner clears his throat.

“Are you, uh… going to take care of that?” 

She glares at him, but with little actual malice, before looking up at the sky. “If I haven’t started by the next time it rains, I will.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” Her answer is instantaneous, and this time she looks positively murderous when she meets Reiner’s gaze. “And if you follow me, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

Reiner chuckles, his shoulders sloped towards the earth and his eyes turned down at the corners. “I know you will,” he says, and Bertolt knows he’ll follow her if he can. Bertolt wishes he could, wishes he could be there for her, but he knows he can’t. One or two extra lightning bolts in a storm can be dismissed, the evidence of one or two warriors washed away with the rain, but his own warrior can’t be hidden so easily, the marks on his face fading as slowly as his warrior moves.

Annie dresses with the same calm efficiency as she strips, and she has all her things gathered together before Bertolt even has his shirt on. She leaves them without a word, melting into the woods, and Reiner throws an arm around Bertolt’s shoulders, leaning against him and pressing his nose into Bertolt’s deltoid and inhaling.

“Come on, I’m starving.” He laughs and kisses Bertolt’s muscle. “You probably are too, we had a good workout.”

Bertolt nods, but he’s watching the place where Annie disappeared until he pulls his shirt over his head.

~*~

No one questions them when they get back; the cadets of the 104th have their own lives, their own secrets and hidden realities, and they know better than to ask questions for fear of getting answers they don’t want. Bertolt follows Reiner through the rest of the evening, eating his dinner and not feeling full when he’s finished, standing under a blast of cold water from the showers, and then climbing up into the bunk they share, his body a mass of beautiful aches. Reiner follows him, and when the lanterns are blown out and the other boys quiet down, Reiner rolls over and gathers Bertolt into his arms. Bertolt goes willingly, snuggling against Reiner’s reassuring warmth and bulk, hiding his face in Reiner’s chest and not giving voice to all the questions he wants to ask. 

All of them except one.

“Reiner?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have you ever… with Annie… afterwards?” Bertolt doesn’t think anyone else would be able to parse that together, even Annie herself, but Reiner knows immediately what he’s talking about, and his arms stiffen a little around Bertolt.

“Once,” he admits, and Bertolt swallows around a sob. “Other times, maybe, but I couldn’t find her. I heard it, though.”

Bertolt nods, his face still hidden; once you’ve heard a warrior’s thunderclap, it’s impossible to mistake it for anything else. “Do you think that… later on…”

He feels Reiner shake his head above him. “Don’t think like that.” His voice is soft, chiding. “We’re going to go home someday, and you and Annie are going to have a big family.”

It’s not the question Bertolt had been trying to ask, but it gets his attention anyway. “And you.” Bertolt lifts his head, trying to meet Reiner’s eyes, but he’s looking away, his eyes dull flat discs in the gloom. “ _We’re_ going to have a big family.” It might not be the normal way of doing things, but he can’t imagine a life without both of them, can’t imagine a world where the three of them aren’t together any longer.

Reiner shakes his head. “You’d condemn some poor kid to a nose like mine?”

“I like your nose.”

“Yeah, well, no one ever accused you of having good taste.” Reiner brushes his lips over the bridge of Bertolt’s nose, taking the sting out of his words. “Your nose would be better.”

“It’s too long,” Bertolt protests. “Annie is the only one with…” He trails off, realizing what he’s about to suggest.

Reiner’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he chuckles, deep and low in his chest. “You’re right. That poor kid would be doomed, no matter how it happened.”

Bertolt nods, reassured, and tucks his head in against Reiner’s shoulder. “So you’ll stay with us?”

Reiner doesn’t answer right away, just traces his fingers up and down the length of Bertolt’s spine, leaving little twitches of electricity in their wake. “Whatever happens,” he says finally, his words solemn with finality, “I want you to be happy. You and Annie both.”

Bertolt shakes his head, scrubbing his face across Reiner’s neck, where his pulse beats slow and close to the surface. “And _you_.”

“And me,” Reiner finally says, and sighs.

Bertolt nods, satisfied. “We’re going to go home,” he says softly, and feels Reiner’s arms tighten around him. “We’re all going to go home, and it’s going to be better this time. We’re going to be _real_.”

Reiner’s voice is indulgent when he answers. “Can you imagine what the little ones look like by now? How big they must have gotten?”

“Or what your dad has done in the city?” Reiner’s father was always so clever, as quick-witted as his oldest son, and given the freedom to experiment, to _try_ , Bertolt can’t imagine what he’s done.

“He and Mr. Leonhart have probably taken the world by storm.”

Bertolt doesn’t say anything else, choosing to end their conversation on such a positive note, and he feels Reiner drift off to sleep, his arms loosening around Bertolt and his breathing slowing down. Bertolt stays awake awhile longer, listening to Reiner’s heartbeat, and thinking, turning things over and over in his mind, trying to find a way for the three of them to stay together, to go home and find their families, to start a family of their own.

As he fades into oblivion himself, Bertolt wonders if he’ll dream of children again, children with golden eyes and dark hair and pale skin, children with hair the color of the sun and eyes the color of leaves in summer, children with olive skin and shining white hair and crooked noses. He wonders if those children will ever be anything more than dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not always like my Reiners bisexual, but when I do, I only like them bisexual for Annie.
> 
> Have some porn, friends. I was originally writing this for Reibert Week (it was going to have a more conclusive Reibert ending and be for the Stronger Together day), but then Isayama ruined everything and I had to retreat to the safety of the Namaste verse instead. Instead you get it now, and the ending changed AGAIN thanks to the new chapter! 
> 
> Really, the lesson here is that I need to write my porn faster.
> 
> Oh yeah, don't do ass-to-vag, kids. That's a one-way ticket to Infection Town, and while Annie can steam it away, you can't. Just... don't.


End file.
